Do not come near me unless you are willing to
pursue me with reckless abandon, even until the end of the earth.

Do not look at me until you can appreciate the beauty that God
has birthed in me and stand in amazement of it.

Do not touch me if you cannot do so with tenderness and respect.

Do not speak to me unless it is to say that you love me more than you love yourself.

Until you are ready to fight for me, you are not worthy of me.

Like a captain aboard a sinking vessel,
he waits for the last passenger to disembark.
But if that passenger refuses to be saved,
does that make the captain loyal or foolish?
Either way,
it's a tragedy too painful to watch.

My bare feet
stand on the linoleum floor,
sticky from the hairspray
that is used to cement
every last one of your hairs
to your head.
I could cut my finger on it -
you said so yourself.
Though it's not my finger that
is bleeding,
but rather my heart.

My ears are ringing,
my head is spinning,
and my stomach is sinking -
sinking like a ship
with its captain still on board.
Desperately, I grab for
something,
anything -
anything that will keep me
sane,
but your assault keeps coming.

Every word that is spat, I taste.
Every blow that is thrown, I feel.
I read every thought written
across your sour, distorted face.

There is only one way to stop
the blood from flowing
onto the sticky floor,
and I must act quickly.
I summon the cold from deep within
and feel it begin to rise,
first through my toes,
then my calves and
into my lower belly,
until finally,
painful relief wraps
Its icy fingers around my heart.
The out-pour of blood has ceased,
but so has the beating of my heart.

Where are you,  knight in shattered armor?
The months seem like years.
Do you not notice the time?
I do - it is my constant companion.

Occasionally I see your “mood eyes” (as I call them),
when mine close at night.
Piercing blue and sometimes gray,
those tiny windows to your soul.

I remember how they sparkled mischievously
as you performed your magic in my parents’ kitchen;
laughing at my child-like awe
as I watched you pull out my card.

Do you know that you have ruined the word “coconut” for me?
I can’t even look at one without thinking about migration.
Sometimes I wish I had that effect on you,
where you can’t even look at something without going back to October.

It’s the little things that haunt me:
your hand on my shin,
that spot between neck and shoulder,
three kisses in rapid succession.

I wish I could haunt you,
come to you as a ghost in the night
wrap my cold arms around you from behind
and breathe love into your ear.

Would you react?
I doubt it.
Your heart is already cold as stone.
You have forgotten the warmth of my love.

You, sir, are looking
at the damsel in distress
who rescued herself.

There’s a Ken doll in the back seat of my car;
He’s been demoted from passenger.
My parents bought him for me one Christmas as a joke – “Ken Perfect” they called him…
The boyfriend that will always listen with a smile on his face
and a sparkle in his eye.
I thought it was a cute token of my single-ness,
But of course it didn’t last.
The men came and went,
And poor Ken roasted through the summer
And froze through the winter.
Always with a smile on his face
And a sparkle in his eye.
Why is it that nice guys
Always finish last?

I want to write you a love letter,
but my hand remains motionless
on the page.

Oh that I could write music!
To be able to compose a melody
that intertwines thoughts
and ideas better than any of these
words could ever hope to do.

Or perhaps paint a picture;
the swirl and streak of my brush
illustrating the explosive reds,
happy yellows,
and sobering blues
Of our relationship.

Maybe I should lead you to the
warm sands of the beach,
let you dip your toes in the
cooling water and feel the constant
advance and return of the waves
wash over your ankles and calves
and tell you that this is what my love
for you is like…constant and gentle.

Indeed,
I should do all of these things,
for they are easier than writing
a love letter.